


A Merry Little Christmas

by kiss_me_cassie



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2007-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: It was precisely eight hours, thirty-three minutes and twenty-six seconds past midnight on Christmas day...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Characters/Rating: Ensemble, PG for a bad word  
> Spoilers: Series so far  
> Disclaimer: They are definitely not mine.
> 
> Notes: Sus is kindness itself for looking this over and giving me some help. Janie, I hope you like this first attempt at Pushing Daisies fic. (And that you are feeling better!)

It was precisely eight hours, thirty-three minutes and twenty-six seconds past midnight on Christmas day, and the two women in the Pie Maker's life were sitting awkwardly across from each other in a booth at the Pie Hole. They looked neither at each other nor at the room, but solemnly at the table between them.

It was Chuck who finally broke the silence, looking up and presenting a shy smile to her companion "I got you something."

Olive Snook looked up in surprise. "You did?" 

For Olive was nothing if not curious.

"Mmhm." Chuck reached for the item beside her, a lumpy round package with a cheery red bow on top.

"What is it?" Olive asked, pulling the item towards her and unwrapping it. The gift turned out to be a round of cheese, pale and pungent in the early morning light. "Cheese. How… interesting."

"It's gouda," Chuck informed her, her smile widening. "The aunts always said you could never go wrong with a good wheel of gouda."

Olive set the cheese aside and shyly brought out a gift of her own. "I got you a little something, too."

"Oh, I love presents!" Chuck took the gaily wrapped gift and tore at the paper, revealing a most appropriate book. "Returning From The Dead: How To Reclaim Your Assets And Reacquaint Yourself With Loved Ones," she read. "Why thank you, Olive!"

"John Joseph Jacobs said it was the single most helpful book he read after his mother's unfortunate incarceration," Olive said proudly. 

"I'm sure it will be useful," Chuck replied.

It was while they were both smiling broadly at one another, touched by the gifts they had received, that Emerson Cod arrived. He was bundled against the swirling snow in a tidy wool cap and scarf that he had knitted himself. He was also quite excited.

"We've got ourselves a new case," he announced. "A man on Treehouse Way died with suspicious sleigh marks and – What in hell is that poor dog wearing?"

He was referring, of course, to Digby, who sat quietly and placidly by Olive's feet.

"Reindeer antlers," Olive piped up, while at the same time Chuck said, "But it's Christmas! He'll still be dead tomorrow, won't he?"

Emerson Cod looked from the two women to the dog and back again. "Why do I even bother?" he muttered, shaking his head and taking a seat in the roomy booth next to Chuck. He directed his gaze at Olive. "I don't suppose you have any hot coffee made yet, do you?"

Olive nodded and bounced up from her seat. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"

Left alone with Chuck, Emerson heaved a sigh of frustration. "You have objections to waking the dead on Christmas?"

"Not per se, but it seems rude to wake someone up only to dash their hopes of a joyous holiday one minute later," she explained practically. 

He rolled his eyes. "Of course it would. Are there any other holidays you have objections to?"

"Well, Easter maybe, if purely for the symbolism," Chuck noted. "And Mother's Day seems somewhat cruel. The fourth of July?"

"Uh-huh."

Chuck was not at all deterred by his cynicism. "I got you something," she said. With a big smile, she pulled a long flat box from beside her. 

"Is it a shovel?" Emerson asked facetiously. "I could really use a shovel right about now."

"Open it and find out," she urged him, pressing the box into his hands.

He did. Inside, on a lining of the softest Irish homespun wool he'd ever felt, were two bamboo knitting needles. The knot in his heart melted just the tiniest bit. "Thank you, Charlotte."

She grinned at him, pleased that her gift had pleased him. It was while they sat there smiling that Olive returned.

"Coffee! Hot coffee!" she chirped, setting a tray with a steaming pot and three mugs on the table. 

The Pie Maker, watching the scene from his kitchen, grinned. And for the first time in nearly twenty-one years, eighty-four days, sixteen hours, fifty-four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, he felt completely and thoroughly happy.


End file.
